


Why do your feet smell of onions?

by Kaiseilin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiseilin/pseuds/Kaiseilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock being Sherlock, John being John. Small snippet of 221B domesticity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why do your feet smell of onions?

“JOHN JOHHNNNNN MOVE!”

 

“What? What?! Sherlock what are you-?!”

 

In a second John finds himself with a heavy lap full of his friend, who continues to tap enthusiastically on his phone while John shouts and splutters and generally makes a fuss into Sherlock's back.

 

“You didn't move John! Never mind. Need to sit. This will do.” He rants, in one of those moods where his mind is whirring at a million miles an hour. John just lets his head fall back and sighs.

 

“Sherlock I am on the sofa.” He states, unimpressed. “There is a whole other half of the sofa where you can sit, now get off me you're heavy!”

 

“Can't! Need to sit here!” He exclaims, large hands getting more volatile with his phone. He wriggles back a little and chuckles darkly at the screen, muttering things that make no sense.

 

“You do not need to sit here! You're being childish on purpose!” John scolds, trying to read his paper against Sherlock's back but the detective starts wriggling around and getting more and more excitable. “For gods sake!” John grunts, grabs his friend's shoulders and pushes him sideways so he falls onto the empty side of the couch in a heap that he's quick to scramble out of. He's no less annoying once he does, his legs wont keep still, like they have a mind of their own. John ends up absently fighting with one jerking haphazardly across his stomach while he reads a newspaper article. The other foot ends up on the side of his face. “Sherlock...” He mumbles, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Why do your feet smell like onions?”

 

“Case John!” He yelps, toes kneading Johns cheek until they're roughly shoved out of his face. Sherlock puts it on the back of the couch instead, no further away really, the stench of onion is still invading John's nostrils.

 

“You absolutely _stink_ you irritating sod!” He grimaces, squinting at the smell. “The bloody hell have you been doing with onions?” He looks to the side, seeing his friend legs akimbo on the couch, with quite the psychotic face, wriggling with every apparent muscle he owned, could only bring a burst of laughter from his mouth. “And what the hell are you up to now? I hope you're not texting serial killers again.” He gives up on his paper, he can't do anything while Sherlock is in one of these moods.

 

“Yes actually! Almost got him too!” A wild grin stretches across his face. “Ahhhhh he thinks he's so clever, so desperate to show of to me but he's wrooooooong!” He sings delightedly. “Shame to let this one go, he's put up such a good fight...they all make silly mistakes though don't they...this will be over in three more texts!”

 

John waits for three more text alerts, watching as Sherlock shakes more and more violently with each one and then gently pushes the onion-drenched feet to the floor before he sends his last reply.

 

On cue Sherlock is leaping from the sofa with a triumphant roar and laughing as if he's just won the lottery. He rushes round the room with glee and then grabs his coat and scarf. “That's another one for Lestrade! Coming?”

 

“Who wouldn't want to run round all day after some mad detective that stinks of onions?” John reckons, standing to get his own coat before jogging down the stairs after Sherlock, who's dashing like a spring deer. “Happy days.” John sighs, closing the door behind him with a laugh.


End file.
